


The Enemy of My Enemy

by eragon19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ajay is an asshole, Angst, Bonding, Case Fic, M/M, Mary is a villain, Past Torture, Sarcasm, anger issues, bed sharing, but a lovable asshole, teaming up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: At the pool Sherlock and Ajay discover they have an enemy in common. The best way to take her down is for two men who normally work alone to work together.Now Ajay is working for revenge, while Sherlock is working to save John Watson.
Relationships: Ajay & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Ajay, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

“Who the hell are you?”

Sherlock was panting hard, water dripping off his sodden clothes and onto the cold floor of the pool room. His side was throbbing, and he could feel the beginnings of a massive headache from the blows he’d been dealt by the man before him. 

The man in question was posed for another around, his stance firm and eyes calm as if they hadn’t nearly drowned each other a few moments ago. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock answered, grasping at the little bit of dignity he had left. Having your arse handed to you by an almost chronic alcoholic would do that to anyone. “And you?” 

The man regarded him a moment, before his eyes flicked to the smashed Thatcher bust on the ground, lingering on the little plastic flash drive half covered in bits of plaster. Sherlock‘s chest throbbed as he thought of another flash drive; metal, with scribbled letters, clutched in Mary’s hands. Hands that didn’t shake, never shook. Even when she was aiming for the kill. 

This drive was different, made of red and back plastic, certainly not the one John had destroyed.

“Ajay,” the man said by way of introduction, pulling Sherlock back to the present, “Give Rose my best.”

Everything seemed to go still for a moment.

Black horror clouded Sherlock’s vision, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare dumbly at Ajay, trying to piece together what in the hell John’s daughter had to do with anything. 

Ajay eased forward a step and Sherlock was instantly back on alert, bringing his arms up into a defensive stance. The wet fabric of his suit pulled tightly against his elbows and he wished he’d taken off his jacket. 

Ajay was sneering at the expression on his face. 

“Oh, I forgot. You know her as  _ Mary _ ,” he said, his voice acidic with sarcasm, “How’s the good little doctor’s wife, humm? Still on the clean side of her leaf?”

The horror swirling within Sherlock stilled somewhat. He was referring to  _ Mary _ . Sherlock filed that bit of information away and berated himself for being ridiculous enough to think a baby could be involved in the wider game at play. 

Suddenly, a harsh light glared through the cracks in the blinds behind them, making the room sickeningly neon striped. 

“Armed police! We have you surrounded!” 

Ajay’s eyes moved from the flash drive and began flicking around, looking for a way out. Sherlock could pinpoint the moment he found one as a tiny smirk flitted across his face. 

“Tell the good doctor to watch his back.” 

With that, Ajay darted past him, and down the narrow corridor Sherlock had entered through ages ago. 

Sherlock stood shivering for a moment, his mind skittering over the facts; Mary was more than he’d deduced her to be. He known that for a long time now, but this was something bigger. Something new. She was more dangerous. Again he knew this, he had a hole in his chest to prove it, but clearly something deeper was at work.

_ Still on the clean side of her leaf? _

Sherlock had had his doubts about that for some time now, but now it looked like Mary’s game was moving to the forefront. 

Mary’s game….Mary who had John’s baby, who had  _ John.  _

Whatever was on that flash drive had driven Mary to kill, and John was with her. John, who was caught in a set of cross-hairs he was totally unaware of. He trusted Mary, he’d let down his normally razor sharp awareness around her. John would be vulnerable if she decided he got in her way somehow and her hands never shook, not even a little….

Swallowing against the acrid taste of fear in his mouth, Sherlock quickly scooped the flash drive off the ground, stuffed it into his pocket and sprinted after Ajay. 

“Wait!” Sherlock called wildly, the realizations on top of realizations making his control slip, “I can help you!” 

“As if you can,” Ajay scoffed over his shoulder, darting up a short flight of stairs. “God, can they  _ shut up,”  _ he snarled, as the police pleaded with them to come out once again. 

“They’ll storm the building soon,” Sherlock said, trying to get a hold on the desperation clawing up his throat. “The kitchen is our best bet!” 

Ajay skidded to a stop and Sherlock nearly crashed into him. 

“We can climb out the-

“Rubbish chute,” Ajay cut in.

Sherlock blinked at him a moment. He was about to say something flip, when the crashing of the front door interrupted him.

“Lead the way Sherlock Holmes,” Ajay said, with a mocking gesture of gallantry. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and darted forward. They banged through the kitchen door to the sound of the police raiding the upper floor. 

“They’ll clear the first floor before they come down here,” Sherlock said, yanking open the trash chute door. “The chute empties into a skip at the back of the building. There’s a network of alleys there. We’re bound to find a fire escape and once we get onto the rooftops we’re clear.”

Ajay nodded, “I’ll jump first.” 

Sherlock was about to protest. He was almost positive Ajay would do a runner as soon as he got out, but the man was already sliding his legs through the door and they didn’t have time to argue. 

Ajay gave him a look and what Sherlock could have sworn was a quick wink before jumping. Sherlock silently counted half a minute as he listened to the distance voices of the police. 

Honestly, how could they be surprised criminals escaped so often when they were so  _ loud. _

Shaking his head, he smothered a hysterical laugh and slid leg first down the shoot. The fall was quick, dark and vile. Sherlock felt the last of his dignity leave him as he landed hard in a pile of rubbish. He sat up quickly, cringing as his hand dragged through something  _ moist,  _ and hopped out of the skip. 

To his complete lack of surprise Ajay was nowhere to be seen. The alleys twisted off in four different directions and Sherlock wasn’t about to waste time hunting, not with the police so close. 

He grimaced at the stupidity of letting Ajay go down the shoot first, but it couldn’t be helped now. In moments he was up the second fire escape (taking the 1st one he found would be too obvious) and sprinting over dark rooftops, the din of London below him and a flash drive burning a hole in his pocket. 

He needed to read it, then he needed to call John. 

***

Sherlock trudged into his flat, his teeth chattering like mad. He’d had to take rooftops for miles, and when he’d finally come down, none of the cabs would take him. The flat was freezing, and Sherlock’s hands shook as he turned up the thermostat. His clothes felt like sheets of ice pressed against his skin, but he didn’t have time to focus on mere physical discomfort now.

With trembling hands, Sherlock emptied his pockets, drying the flash drive with an abandoned tea towel and grimacing at the state of his mobile 

As his laptop booted up he stripped the sodden suit off his body and grabbed his robe off the couch. He winced as he sat in front of his laptop, that Ajay had a mean roundhouse kick. 

Although he was desperate, he wasn’t about to have his laptop fried. He scanned the drive with every detection software he had, both public and government grade. After spending a tooth grinding twenty minutes waiting for a worm to be wiped from the drive, the files were finally clean.

Tugging his robe back into place, his eyebrows knitted together as Mary’s past presented itself in a neat row of files. Still, he felt having all this information fall into his lap was too good to be true, so it was with great apprehension that he opened up the first folder and started to read. 

It was two birth certificates. The first showed the birth of Mary Morstan, the second was for a Rosemond Katherine Walters. Both women were born in the same year but that was the only similarity between the certificates. 

Sherlock zoomed in to various parts of the certificate, but both appeared legitimate. He would have to do more digging. Grabbing a pen and jotting pad he scrawled both names and birth dates. 

The next folder contained scanned school files. When the crooked, grainy pages loaded the first thing that jumped out at Sherlock was the picture. A small, over inked photo of who was clearly a young Mary, or Rosemond, glared out at Sherlock from the upper right of the file. The child gave the camera a surly glare, her heavy bangs turning her eyes into two black smudges.

She had had brown hair Sherlock thought as he stared, taking in the pointed chin and furrowed brow. She looked so similar to Rosie before a cry, it was almost eerie.

It was clearly a primary school entry application for one Rosemond Walters, who was now Mary Watson. A Mary Watson who had named her baby after her former self. 

Sherlock bit his lips and kept reading. The document was old enough that it was handwritten, and Sherlock squinted at the cramped script. The birth date was consistent with the birth certificate he’d found, and the parents names matched. It seemed legitimate, but since the origin of this information was still murky, Sherlock wasn’t going to get his hopes up. 

Clicking off, Sherlock opened the next document, his eyebrows rose as he took it in. It was an article about Rosemond Walters receiving a ‘most helpful’ award along with a classmate. This time a nine year old Mary was beaming in the photograph. Her hand made dents in the paper certificate she and her classmate held, while the other was wrapped tightly around her friend’s shoulder.

Sherlock peered at the screen. The other girl was smiling, but it looked strained. The corners of her smile and eyes were tight and her body was twisted away from Mary, with her fingertips barely holding the certificate. Sherlock found himself wondering if Mary was digging her nails into this girl’s shoulder the way she did whenever she hugged him. 

His eyes skimmed the rest of the article. Apparently both girls had painted a mural in the school’s courtyard. Whoever wrote the article made it a point about how shocking it was that Mary Walters  _ ‘who had never shown any artistic talent before had not only helped with the mural, but spearheaded the project.’ _

Frowning Sherlock clicked open the next file, idly rubbing at his sternum as it opened. It was several articles all dumped into one document. All seemed to show what a treasure Mary was at her school. Head of the debate team, head of the swim team, teacher’s pet. Sherlock scowled as he sent the items to print.

What was the point of these? To show Mary was diligent at school? He grabbed a roll of tape and began sticking the articles to the wall. The point would show itself, it always did. It made no sense to disregard something now, when he had so many more files to go through.

It suddenly dawned on Sherlock that it might be a bit not good if John saw his wife’s past spread all over his wall. Especially a past that meant she’d been lying to them even more than they thought., Then again John hadn’t been to Baker Street in weeks. Not since Sherlock said he couldn’t baby sit as he had a new case. 

Scowling, Sherlock made his way back to the laptop. If John came over he’d just say he was busy and lock the door. He had too much work to do to worry about that now. 

The next file made his eyebrows shoot up. It was a discipline report made against Rosemond Walters that accused her of bullying. In the teacher’s comments, the teacher seemed stunned that Rosemond would be accused of such a thing and suggested jealousy might have prompted the compliant. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly this teacher had been just as blind as he had been when he’d first met Mary.

If the disciplinary report was shocking, what came next was even more so. It was a grainy article reporting the drowning death of a school girl. Sherlock swallowed, it was the same girl who’d won the award with Mary, the same girl who’d reported her for bullying. She’d been found dead in the pond behind her family’s home and the parents were being charged with negligence.

Sherlock sat back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. The whole event was eerily similar to the Carl Powers incident that had started everything. As he stared at the picture of the little red haired girl that accompanied the article, he noticed he was rubbing his chest again. 

Both those incidents had ended with Sherlock dying...both literally and figuratively. 

Shaking off the dramatic thoughts, Sherlock kept reading. Mary’s secondary school life seemed fairly normal. She was a top scoring student, won several academic awards, and was dubbed a ‘student to watch’ by the school. Sherlock had had a fairly similar academic life himself. The only difference was Mary seemed well liked. She’d joined  _ teams  _ for Christ's sake…

If he was being perfectly honest, this glowing rendition of Mary’s secondary school life seemed incomplete. As if something was lurking just beneath the surface of that perfect schoolgirl facade. 

Then again, maybe Sherlock was biased because she’d killed him.

Sighing, Sherlock jotted down the name’s of Mary’s teachers, he'd have to cross reference everything before he felt satisfied. 

Opening the next folder Sherlock felt his apprehension grow….it was the first file of information on Mary’s military career. 

He clicked the file open, one hand absentmindedly sliding between the gaping V of his dressing gown. 

Thick black lines covered the page. 

Sherlock blinked and tapped the arrow key. More black.

His finger tapped faster and faster skimming through pages and pages of blacked out information. Mary’s entire professional life had been obliterated. 

Sherlock sighed and jammed his palms against his eyes until swirling galaxies appeared in the black. The rain outside picked up, battering hard against the windows. Sitting up, Sherlock clicked back to the beginning and began to inspect the files again. 

Further down, a tiny, smudged picture glared like a beacon among the lines of black. Sherlock’s nose brushed the screen as he struggled to read the tiny row of words captioning the photo. Gritting his teeth he cropped the photo and imported it to his photo editing software. A few clicks and the image began to slowly clear. Sherlock eyed the progress bar and sighed….this would take a while. 

He stood up and paced back and forth in front of the couch. The palms and bottoms of his feet itched with inactivity. He felt like there was something vastly important to exposing Mary in those files and he needed to  _ find it. _

The progress bar was only at three percent. Scowling, Sherlock swiped his mobile off the table. He’d call John, make sure he was alright. Not that he wouldn’t be, but it wouldn’t hurt. 

The phone didn’t respond to his thumb print, nor the unlock button. It looked like his dive in the pool had done more damage than he thought. His scowl deepened as he trudged into the kitchen to find rice. Seeing the state of his counters he dropped the phone next to his microscope and headed back into the living room. He probably didn’t have rice anyway. He hadn’t cooked in ages, relying on Mrs Hudson, take away and chocolate to keep him going. 

The bar was at 5 percent as he opened Skype. The hollow beeping was barely audible over the rain. 

Sherlock released a breath he didn’t know he was holding as John’s face filled the screen.

“Sherlock,” John said smiling warmly, “What’s up?”

Despite the mess of the night, Sherlock found himself smiling back. John tended to have that effect on him.

“How’s the Thatcher case going? Solved it yet?” John continued, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yes, there was quite a large development tonight actually.” 

“Really! What happened?” John said, leaning forward eagerly. 

Sherlock struggled with how much he should tell John. Part of him wanted to tell John everything, get him and Rosie out of the flat immediately, and sic Mycroft on Mary. The larger part of him knew that wasn’t feasible. Simply telling John was out of the question. John was a terrible actor and Mary was very shrewd. Getting John and running would send Mary to ground or force her to take drastic action, which was something Sherlock couldn’t risk. It wouldn’t end well.

Sighing, Sherlock knew what he had to do...he’d have to keep John in the dark,  _ again _ . 

A nasty part of his mind wondered if John would care if he knew the truth. After all he’d taken Mary back after she’d shot him. 

“Sherlock? Are you alright?”

“Yeah- Yes, John I’m fine,” Sherlock said. “It was a long night is all.”

“Have you eaten?” John asked, his eyebrows drawing together and mouth softening with concern.

Sherlock loved that look, for a variety of reasons he didn’t care to think about now.

“Yes.”

A slightly strained silence fell then. Sherlock couldn’t tell John about the case, and the cases were all they had these days. Desperate for something to do, Sherlock reached for his ruined mobile. The silk covering his shoulder slid downward, baring his upper arm and part of his chest to the chill of the flat.

“I ruined my phone again,” Sherlock said, forcing a chuckle out. “I keep forgetting you can’t get the damn things wet.”

John seemed distracted, his brows were still furrowed, but his mouth was a hard line now. 

Sherlock sat back, causing the silk to slide below his nipple. “Sorry, did you say something?” he asked, tugging the dressing gown back into place, shivering.

John cleared his throat, his cheeks pink. “No, no. How’s Mrs H?”

“She's fine,” Sherlock hated how stilted their conversations had become. 

“Hey boys!”

God, he hated that even more.

“Hello Mary,” Sherlock said, plastering on his best fake smile. The one that everyone believed, well everyone except John.

Mary walked into view, a grumpy Rosie perched on one hip.

“God Sherlock, you look like shit,” Mary said, bending down to peer at him, an obnoxious teasing smile on her face. “Rough case, or a rough night with Miss Adler, eh?”

She nudged John, who was looking annoyed now, and kept fidgeting in his seat. 

“A case,” Sherlock said, feeling his own mood sour.

Why did everyone have to keep bringing up bloody Irene Adler? He clearly had no interest in her. 

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Mary said with a wink, “Bring her around next time she visits. We can do dinner.”

John’s head came up sharply. “Irene visits you?”

Sherlock felt his annoyance rise. “Of course not,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah,  _ of course _ Sherlock,” Mary said sarcastically, with a we’re-all-mates-here smile that set Sherlock’s teeth on edge. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something acidic, but Mary interrupted him again. 

“John, Rosie's fussing. She needs her daddy I think,” Mary said, lowering Rosie into John’s lap. “Say goodbye to Sherlock, pet.”

She lifted one of Rosie’s hands in a wave, blew Sherlock a kiss and breezed out of the room.

“Well, I guess I better get this little one to bed,” John said awkwardly, as Rosie squirmed in his lap, making pre-cry sounds that were steadily getting louder.

“Goodbye, John,” Sherlock said quietly, his stomach twisting.

“Talk to you later Sherlock.”

Giving Sherlock a tired look, John shut the laptop, leaving Sherlock to stare at his own tired reflection. 

The progress bar was only at twenty-five percent.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock opened his web browser, he’d cross check Mary’s teachers and ‘friends’ while he waited. 

Just then there was a thud from his bedroom.

Sherlock froze, every sense on high alert. He was on his feet in an instant, body poised to fight and wishing he’d put on more than just a robe when he’d gotten home. He heard the squeak from the floorboard in front of his door, and the click of the door handle. 

Sherlock slowly slid out from his spot by the table to the clearer space by the couch, giving himself room to fight. 

“Relax, I’m not here to kill you Sherlock Holmes,” a familiar voice said, just before Ajay eased his way around the kitchen door. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, not relaxing his stance in the slightest. 

Ajay sauntered into the living room, but the tension on his shoulders and hands showed he was no more relaxed than Sherlock was.

“I’m here because you were right. I do need your help.” Ajay’s eyes flicked to the laptop, “I have the information you need, and you have the resources I lack.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“The same reason I’m trusting you. We both need her gone, and...the enemy of my enemy is my friend as they say.”

Sherlock’s mind flew over the facts. He didn't trust Ajay in the slightest, but he was never one to turn away a source of information, especially a willing one. 

“Fine,” Sherlock said, relaxing his stance. “Have a seat and we’ll begin.”

Ajay slowly sank onto the couch, and it gave Sherlock a bit of satisfaction to see he was moving just as gingerly as Sherlock was. Clearly, Sherlock had gotten in a few good hits himself. He sat down on his own hard chair again, keeping the line of access between them unclear. 

“There’s no need to enhance that photo,” Ajay said, nodding to the laptop. “Our commanding officer was Anthony Hopkins, and Rosemond fucked him over just as badly as she did you and I.”

Sherlock blinked at him a moment, he was used to having to pry the facts out of people, having someone so up front was...refreshing.

“Tea Ajay?”

“Ajay.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s pronounced Uh-Jay, not A-J. And yes I’d love a cuppa,” Ajay said with a smile, propping one ankle on his knee.

“Right, sorry. The kettle’s in the kitchen,” Sherlock said, feeling vaguely embarrassed. He straightened his robe, tugging the lapels into place.

With a chuckle, Ajay headed into the kitchen, and began fumbling around. He didn’t make one comment about the mess, or the experiments, and found the cups on the first try.

Entering the first name from his list into the search bar, Sherlock found himself frowning at the reminiscent feeling swirling in his gut.

****

“So, plans to ‘take down’ Mary?” Sherlock asked, typing away. 

“I was thinking of returning the favour,” Ajay said, taking a sip of his tea.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and turned to Ajay in question. 

“You know,” he mimed shooting someone. “Bang.”

Sherlock huffed, “Non-lethal I meant. John wouldn’t-

He cringed at Ajay’s knowing look.

“Non-lethal methods only,” he finished lamely, turning away.

Ajay rolled his eyes and dropped his head back against the sofa. “What do you suggest?”

“Expose her. Air all the dirty laundry and have her removed.”

“She shot you, didn’t she?” Ajay asked suddenly, sitting forward.

Sherlock flicked a glance at him over his shoulder, then turned back to his laptop. “Yes, she did.”

“And that wasn’t proof enough for Watson?”

“Apparently not,” Sherlock said, and if he hit the keys a bit harder than necessary so be it.

“She’s the reason the Siberians had me for six years.”

Everything came to a grinding halt as the smell of damp stone and dust filled Sherlock’s nose. His fingers flexed impotently over the keyboard for a moment, before he turned to face Ajay again. 

“Six years,” he said flatly. 

Ajay nodded, his knuckles white where they held the cup. “How long did they have you?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, to say no one had  _ had  _ him and Ajay was being far too presumptuous, but something stopped him. He wasn’t sure if it was Ajay’s grip on the cup, the way he sat so the door was always in sight, or the half tired, half angry look in his eyes, but he found himself answering.

“Eight months.”

Ajay simply nodded and sat back. “So you know then.”

Sherlock nodded once, swallowing hard. Siberia was something he never  _ ever  _ talked about, or even thought about if he could help it. It was an unhealthy coping method, but it worked....most of the time.

“Tell me this,” Ajay said, cutting into his thoughts, “If Rosemond shot you, why didn’t big brother have her removed?”

“What makes you think my brother has such power?” Sherlock said, his guard coming back up.

Ajay gave him a flat look, his eyebrows raised. 

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. He hated that Ajay knew so much. It rankled his pride in a way he didn’t like. 

“You certainly did your homework,” he sneered, trying to deflect the question. 

“Yeah, because you don’t  _ ever  _ do that,” Ajay said, nodding to the laptop, where Mary’s form mistress’s facebook page glowed. “So why didn’t your brother intervene?” 

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, preparing himself for the ridicule. 

“I asked him not to.”

To his surprise, Ajay was silent. When he snuck a look the man's eyebrows were high in surprise. 

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock,” Ajay said, a knowing look creeping into his expression.

Sherlock scowled at him. “I need to know what she’s planning now, if she’s still working and who planted this drive in the bust. Think you can help with that?” Sherlock said, his words coated in acid.

“Of course she’s still working. That’s why I risked my arse to come here. I want the bitch gone as much as you do.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Restrain yourself and give me the facts.”

Ajay scoffed, another sardonic smile crossing his face. “Did you ever think that maybe if you used less restraint you wouldn’t be in this situation?” His voice turned nasty, “And maybe it would be Doctor Watson on this couch instead of me?”

Sherlock’s hand came down on the table with a bang. 

“The. Facts,” he said through clenched teeth.

What little patience he had was totally gone now; the fight, Mary’s truth and  _ Siberia  _ had sapped it all away. He wanted Ajay’s info, then he wanted him gone. 

As if sensing this, Ajay’s face dropped back into its usual blank mask. 

“Fine, but before we get into the juicy bits, what’s my cover?”

“Your cover?” Sherlock said blankly.

“Yes. If you’re serious about us working together I need a cover. Something that will explain my presence here, but will keep me away from Rosemond.” Ajay leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head, the picture of ease.

Sherlock could see through it easily. The twitch of Ajay’s fingers and the way his eyes kept darting to all the possible exists showed the man was no more at ease than he was. To his surprise he found himself relishing the cruel urge to unsettle Ajay even more. It was odd, as much of an asshole Sherlock he was, he knew he wasn’t cruel. He squashed the feeling and kept his gaze steady on Ajay.

“You can pose as my boyfriend,” Sherlock said, “New boyfriend of course to explain any holes in our backstories.” 

He expected Ajay to balk and bluster the same way John did whenever someone suggested they were a couple. To stutter and stumble and insist it was unnecessary. 

“Works for me,” Ajay said easily.

Sherlock blinked at him.

“Though, what if John describes your new  _ partner  _ to Rosemond?”

“He won’t,” Sherlock said, feeling oddly irritated. “John thinks he’s the type of man who doesn’t notice the details of other men’s looks.”

“But he does?”

Unbidden a memory dredged it’s way to the forefront of Sherlock’s mind; the biting wind on his cheeks, the smell of petrol and John by his side.

_ You being all mysterious with your cheekbones. And turning up your coat collar so you look cool. _

“Oh, he most definitely does,” Sherlock said.

“Well then I’m your new boyfriend, just call me Patrick.”

“Patrick?”

“Yes, Patrick Singh,” Ajay’s tone was brisk, “Now, let’s discuss how we met.”

***

Forty minutes later, Ajay and Sherlock had a plausible backstory. Ajay had been a witness for a case and a meeting at the flat had turned into coffee, which had turned into dinner, which had turned into more. They discussed the case details, which Sherlock knew John would hone in on, and what he and ‘Patrick’ had in common.

It was all so mundanely normal, which is exactly what Sherlock wanted. The story fit in with the side of John that enjoyed seeing Sherlock’s ‘human tendencies’, as he liked to call them. It made Sherlock wonder what his other tendencies were. Vampiric, wolf-like maybe? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that this story would appeal to the part of John that wanted to see ‘human Sherlock’, while the case aspect would appeal to the part of John that tended to separate Sherlock from the masses.

It was perfect in it’s own simple way.

“Now about Mary. The facts,” Sherlock said, a part of him knowing it wouldn’t be so easy.

So, it came as no surprise when Ajay shook his head. 

“Another time Sherlock,” Ajay said, getting slowly to his feet. The trembling of his hands was worse than ever now.

“And why is that?” Sherlock said, crossing his arms.

Ajay hesitated a moment and then seemed to decide he could trust Sherlock with whatever was taking him away.

“I have a...friend...who’s turning me into the invisible man for my walk home,” he said, the aloof smirk back in place, despite the shaking hands. “And they can only do so during a certain time.”

“They’re putting the CCTV cameras that cover your route home on a loop,” Sherlock said dryly.

Ajay smiled, “Aren’t you a clever one?”

“So I’ve been told,” Sherlock said with a smirk of his own.

“Well then, till tomorrow... _ sweetheart _ .”

“Of course... _ dear. _ ”

Ajay’s bark of laughter lingered as he disappeared down the stairs.

As soon as he heard the front door slam, Sherlock was out of his chair and flying across the flat to change. Being naked under a robe was unsuitable for following someone through London.

***

As far as shadowing someone went, it was going as it usually did for Sherlock. His prey had no idea they were being followed. He’d expected more from someone with a past like Ajay’s, what  _ was  _ the military coming to?

He rounded a corner after Ajay and blinked at the empty alley.

Ah fuck.

Hands seized the back of his coat and Sherlock was thrown to the ground hard _.  _ Ajay was on him in an instant, pinning Sherlock’s hips with his own and struggling to wrench Sherlock’s arms over his head. Sherlock fought back, twisting his arms free and aiming a punch at Ajay’s side. The same side he’d winced over at the flat. 

Ajay grunted and his hold loosened for just a moment, giving Sherlock the chance to rear up and throw Ajay off. The two of them scrambled to their feet, breathing hard, but Ajay was fast. He lunged across the alley, frented left to dodge Sherlock’s blow and grabbed Sherlock by the collar. Sherlock grunted as his back collided with the wall and a hard forearm pressed across his throat.

“Listen well Sherlock Holmes,” Ajay said as they panted into each other’s faces. “We may be working together to take care of Rosemond, but never pull this shit again.”

At least he’d cut straight to point instead of wasting Sherlock’s time with idle threats. He braced himself for another hit.

To his surprise, instead of hitting him again Ajay released him and watched intently as Sherlock wheezed in a breath.

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Sherlock said, struggling to not to cough.

“What?”

“Your location being secret. Mine certainly isn’t.”

“Move house then,” Ajay said, “Now, get lost. I’d like to get  _ some  _ sleep tonight.”

With that, Ajay jogged to the end of the alley, gave Sherlock a long look at the corner and then vanished.

Straightening his coat and rubbing gently at his throat, Sherlock walked in the opposite direction. Any other day he would have persisted, but two physical altercations left him in no shape to continue. Besides he’d be seeing Ajay again, giving him more opportunities to follow the man. 

As he raised his arm for a cab, Sherlock grimaced and wished for his bed. He knew it was an empty hope, ever since Siberia physical altercations had...negative...impacts on his dreams. He’d be up for a while yet. 

Glancing over his shoulder at the way Ajay had gone, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be alone in his sleeplessness.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Sherlock sat at the table in 221b. A plate of toast with a single bite missing and a full cup of coffee sat at his elbow. The coffee had long gone cold and a film had settled over the top.

As he’d predicted, he'd gotten maybe two hours sleep last night, so he’d put his time to use and began researching everyone linked to Rosamond Walters he found in the files. He’d had a list of people he wanted to talk to. Number one being Ajay and Mary’s former handler, Anthony Hopkins.

If Ajay would ever get here.

Sighing, Sherlock scrubbed a hand through his hair and griminced. He’d showered after he’d gotten back to the flat last night, but the long hours in front of his laptop had left him feeling greasy for some unfathomable reason. He stood, stretched and took a gulp from his mug, cringing at the cold, stale coffee. He trudged over to the bathroom and hoped in the shower. The last thing he wanted was another meeting with Ajay when he was half dressed and disgusting.

As he showered he thought about Anthony Hopkins, the man Ajay said Mary had fucked over. If the man was still in the country, or still alive for that matter, Sherlock wanted to meet him. He hadn’t been able to find anything on him online, no social media, death records or anything.

Sherlock dried off, styled his hair and dressed in his favourite sapphire blue suit with a crisp white shirt. Feeling ready for battle he returned to the living room.

Gathering up his abandoned robe, coffee and toast he flung the first into his bedroom and the latter two into the kitchen sink. Back in the living room he tore down the few megar bits of information he’d taped to the wall. It was flirting with disaster to put them up when John might design to visit him. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking last night.

He picked the Union Jack pillow off the floor, plumped it up and tucked it onto John’s chair. The room was beginning to get that ‘closed up’ smell, so he opened the windows. Sherlock was folding the throw over the back of the couch when he realized he was _straightening up._

He was shaking his head at himself when the door swung open. _Finally._ He was wondering when Ajay would show up, they had a lot of work to do.

“So you managed to show up befor- John!”

“Hey Sherlock,” John said, smiling, “Expecting someone else?”

“Oh- well actually- yes,” Sherlock said, straightening his jacket.

“Oh,” John looked a little stunned, “For a case?”

“No,” Sherlock said, bearing the cover story in mind, “Not a case.”

There was a beat of awkward silence. The kind that was becoming the norm of late.

“I’ll just- well I won’t bother you then,” John said, looking disheartened.

“No, we still have some time,” Sherlock said, knowing nothing of the sort. “Come in, come in.”

John smiled and stepped further into the flat, sliding out of his coat and hanging it on the rack.

“I’d kill for a cuppa,” John said, giving Sherlock a grin.

Sherlock grinned, his usual reply slipping easily from his lips, “Have at it then.”

John smirked at him and headed into the kitchen.

“Mrs Hudson left biscuits!” Sherlock called after him, making himself comfy on his chair.

He’d barely sat down when Ajay knocked and came through the door without waiting for a reply.

_Well fuck._

“Is that the not-a-client?” John called from the kitchen, “Would they like tea?”

Ajay flicked a glance at the kitchen door and winked at Sherlock. ‘Show time’ he mouthed before fixing a friendly smile onto his face.

“Good morning darling!” Ajay said, happily, affecting a plumby tone that brought back Sherlock’s Eton memories.

“Sherlock?” John said, poking his head out of the kitchen, brushing biscuit crumbs from his lower lip.

Taking in John’s confused expression, Sherlock’s mind inexplicably turned to the little red haired girl clutching the certificate. Show time indeed.

“Patrick,” Sherlock said, smiling back and getting to his feet.

Telegraphing his movements, Sherlock stepped into Ajay’s space, leaned down and kissed him.

A soft gasp came from the kitchen as Sherlock focused on making things look realistic; shutting his eyes and tilting his head. They kept it chaste, just a press of lips on lips, perfectly appropriate for a hello kiss between new boyfriends.

Ajay kissed back, one hand sliding onto Sherlock’s shoulder. Pulling away slowly, Sherlock made sure to maintain eye contact and give Ajay a warm smile. He knew how to act and apparently so did Ajay. The man smiled back at him, and gently ran his fingers through the curls at the base of Sherlock’s skull.

John clearing his throat gave them an excuse to look away from each other.

Keeping a hand on Ajay’s shoulder, Sherlock turned to John with a smile.

“John,” he said, grinning, “this is Patrick.”

John was staring at Sherlock as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. He looked between Sherlock and Ajay, his mouth agape and biscuit forgotten in his hand.

“Ah so this is John!” Ajay thrilled, moving forward for a handshake. “I love your blog!”

John snapped back to himself and shook Ajay’s hand.

“Thank you, I- so you’re Sherlock’s-”

“Boyfriend yes,” Ajay said, giving John a conspiratory smile, as if he was letting him in on a secret.

Sherlock had to admit, Ajay was quite good at this.

“So, boyfriend. That’s- that’s excellent,” John said, trying for a jovial smile and missing by a mile.

Sherlock frowned slightly at this reaction. He’d thought _happily_ married John would be glad his bizarre friend was finally setting down.

“Do sit down John, I’ll fix us all tea,” Ajay said, gesturing for John to sit and then bustling into the kitchen himself.

Sherlock smiled honestly at this. Now that was good; Ajay was establishing that he was close to Sherlock by comfortably playing host in Sherlock’s flat. It would sell the boyfriend act perfectly. He sank into his own chair and gestured for John, who was still standing and looking stunned, to sit in his.

They sat in silence for a moment. John was nervously drumming his fingers on his knee, while Sherlock patiently waited for the barrage of questions he was sure to come.

“So- Patrick?” John asked, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock grinned as best as he could. John’s baffled, slightly hurt face was bothering him, but not in the way he expected. Instead of making him ache, it was sparking annoyance.

“Ah yes, Patrick. We’ve been seeing each other about three months now. Since the Rathbone case. That’s how we met actually.”

“Really?”

Sherlock nodded, “He was a witness I interviewed who...caught my attention so to speak.” He threw in a jovial winnk for good measure. People liked when he winked.

“Oh. The Rathbone case was the one I missed wasn’t it? With the mad strangler?”

“Hum, yes. Rosie had a cold.”

“Oh right, yeah.”

John went quiet, thinking, and Sherlock turned his gaze to the kitchen door as if he couldn’t wait for Ajay to come back. He thought about the time John had dozed off against his shoulder after a stake out to keep himself smiling.

John kept sneaking looks at him, his brow furrowed. Suddenly, his expression cleared.

“This is like Janine isn’t it?” he whispered, leaning forward.

Sherlock barely suppressed an eye roll. That fiasco with Janine had been one of his stupider plots. It had also convinced John that Sherlock could and would only show romantic interest for a case. His annoyance grew at the thought.

“Who?” Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow in feigned ignorance.

“Janine, the woman you pretended to date. Is this for a case?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed, “After that I’m never using a romantic cover again, far too much mess.”

“And things with Patrick aren’t...messy?” John said, licking his lips.

Here came the selling moment, the moment that would either make or break their cover.

“No, not messy at all. In fact,” he gave John a slow, satisfied smile, “things are rather _fun_.”

John’s face fell.

At that moment Ajay returned with a tray Sherlock didn’t remember owning laiden with a matching tea set. He was certainly taking hosting seriously.

“Here we are,” he said in that same plummy tone, eyes on Sherlock “Sorry it’s so sparse.”

“It’s wonderful, thank you,” Sherlock said, giving Ajay a soft smile.

John’s eyes flicked between them as Ajay perched on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and Sherlock curled an arm around his waist. Thankfully, it was easier to fake affection with Ajay than it had been with Janine. The man was built the way Sherlock liked; shorter than him and compactly muscled, much like John…

Luckily, his gaze was still on Ajay so the heat in his expression wouldn’t look odd. Ajay was handing John a cup, but at a squeeze of Sherlock’s fingers he turned to him with a smile. The smile turned slightly salacious in response to the heat in Sherlock’s expression, a lip sliding between Ajay’s white teeth.

A loud slurp from John was their que to break eye contact and act embarrassed at being caught making eyes at each other.

“So how’s Mary?” Sherlock asked, making his voice vague as if his mind was still on Ajay.

“She's fine.” John kept his eyes on his cup, his brow furrowed. “She’s off at a nurses’ conference in Dublin.”

“Ah, and Rosie?”

“At a sitter’s. I was just on my way home from work and decided to drop in.” he looked up then, his eyes following the line of Sherlock’s arm around Ajay’s wasit. “I-

“Oh dear, I forgot the biscuits!” Ajay cut in as if it was a disaster. “Be right back.”

He gave Sherlock’s arm a squeeze before standing up. On the way to the kitchen his shoulder knocked into the coat rack, tipping it. He swore softly under his breath and shot John and Sherlock a self deprecating grin as he straightened the rack, smoothing John’s coat back into place.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the move. He saw what Ajay had really done of course, he just didn’t know why.

“Listen Sherlock-

“Yes,” Sherlock said, turning back John.

John took a deep breath, stealing himself for whatever he was about to say, “Is everything ok? With him I mean?”

Sherlock furrowed his brow, “He’s wonderful.”

What did John want, a detailed account of his and ‘Patrick’s’ relationship? It wasn’t as if he’d gotten that when John started seeing Mary. Thank God.

Seeing John with her was hard enough. He didn’t need details.

“Ah well, good then.”

A strained silence fell and, for the first time since he’d returned, Sherlock found himself wishing John would leave. He had work to do, work that John couldn’t and most likely wouldn’t want to be part of.

Behind John’s chair, Ajay came through from the kitchen holding a packet of biscuits. He brushed his hand along John’s coat again and Sherlock caught a flash of silver. Sherlock turned back to John before the man could notice where he was looking.

“So how’s the case?” John asked, smoothing a hand over his trousers.

“It’s fine.”

“Here you are John,” Ajay said, holding out the open packet of biscuits and perching on the arm of Sherlock’s chair once again.

John looked slightly nauseous, but took a biscuit anyway. He crammed half into his mouth and chewed almost angrily. Sherlock himself felt irked. He hated the tension between them, but more than that, he hated that John was angry over his supposed relationship. As if John hadn’t gone off first. As if he hadn’t stayed with someone who’d killed Sherlock.

He wished he could tell John everything. He wished John could help him with cases again, wished he’d move back into the flat, wished...there were so many things he wished it almost choked him. It was pointless though, and right now the lies kept John safe. The chance at love was long gone for them and after taking down Mary, Sherlock was sure their friendship would be over too.

“So, um Patrick. What do you do?” John asked, turning a false smile to Ajay.

“I’m an accountant. You’re-

“Private or- sorry I thought you were finished,” John said his tone caught somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. Sherlock didn’t know what to make of it.

“No no, it’s fine,” Ajay said with an airy laugh, “Private accountant yes. You’re still with the clinic?”

John nodded, taking a sip of tea. “Sorry, I’m at a bit of a loss here. Sherlock’s never mentioned you.”

Ajay turned to Sherlock with a sneaky smile, “Yes, we wanted to keep things quiet at first. Given his fame and all.”

“I barely make page six,” Sherlock said dryly, giving Ajay’s wasit what he hoped was a playful squeeze.

John let out a strained laugh and suddenly Sherlock was thoroughly fed up of playing pretend.

“Well John, you know I do _hate_ to be rude but Patrick and I have plans we simply _can’t_ be late for.”

“Sherlock!” Ajay said, every inch the scandalized boyfriend, “Let the man at least finish his tea!”

“Now now Patrick, we promised your mother we wouldn’t be late again.”

Ajay, thankfully, seemed unplaused by the mention of his fictitious mother and kept the story flowing.

“Mummy will be alright,” he turned to John “My sister is with her. John, you go on and finish up.”

“No no! It’s fine! I have to get Rosie anyway,” he stood up slowly and set down his cup.

“I’ll walk you out,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice smooth.

The morose look on John’s face was making him angerier.

“So you’ve met his family,” John said quietly as they rounded the landing.

“Yes yes. I couldn't think of a way to get out of it," he said with a sly smile. It would look odd if he was too enthusiastic over something John knew he detested.

John nodded, he was smiling but his eyes were full of sorrow. It hurt Sherlock to see it, but he didn’t have the time to probe John’s complex moods right now. And if he was being totally honest with himself, he didn’t want to. He was tired and angry, and he just wanted to get back to work.

He’d mull everything over later, before bed.

He gave John a final smile and he shut the door on him. Bounding up the stairs, Sherlock was totally unaware of the bone deep loss that was dragging John Watson under.

“What did you do to John’s mobile?” Sherlock said, shutting the flat door with a bit more force than necessary.

Ajay was sprawled in John’s chair, every bit of the plumby boyfriend gone.

“Keystroke monitor and tracker,” Ajay said around a mouthful of chocolate biscuit. He swallowed laboriously, “I thought it’d be smart to keep an eye on the doctor.”

“Ah I see,” Sherlocked paused, “Well I hope you have the stomach for it.”

Ajay ate another biscuit, and raised a questioning eyebrow at Sherlock.

“John attempts at poetry are dismal at best.”

Ajay snorted and took a sip of tea. “Do you really think Rosemond is the type of woman who tolerates _poetry_?”

“I see your point,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

Ajay gave him a snide smile in return. “Anyway the doctor bought the boyfriend act, that was clear.”

The prickle of annoyance returned as Sherlock thought of John’s behaviour. He sat in his chair and turned his mind to the case, ignoring Ajay’s eyes on him.

“What made you choose the Eton route?” Sherlock asked.

“It would be more believable and clearly it was.”

“And why is that?” Sherlock asked, offended.

“Well his jealousy made it fairly obvious,” Ajay said, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock blinked in fringed confusion, “What?”

Ajay rolled his eyes, “Cut the shit. You know what I mean. He was jealous of me, probably felt a bit inferior given the Eton route. All in all, I’d consider our roose a success.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his legs primly.

“Why would he be jealous? He’s a _happily_ married man with a baby. There’s no reason for jealousy.”

Ajay just rolled his eyes again.

“Enough,” Sherlock said, “He believes the story and that’s all that matters. Now, it’s time to fulfill your end of the bargain. Tell me about Mary, and what happened with AGRA.”

Ajay sighed and scrubbed a hand through his short buzz of hair. “Right to the case then, fine.” he held out his half empty tea cup, “ I’ll need something a little stronger for that.”

Sherlock nodded, snatched the cup from Ajay’s hand and stalked into the kitchen. He banged around in the cupboards until he found the bottle of whiskey he’d gotten from Mycroft last christmas and two clean glasses.

Ajay raised his eyebrows as Sherlock slammed the glasses onto the table and poured them each a generous shot.

“Begin then” he said, taking a gulp from the glass.

Ajay sighed through his nose and took a more modest sip.

“Well,” he said his eyes going distant with memory, “I believe the best place to start would be with how we met.”

Sherlock nodded as Ajay took another sip, readying himself to delve into the past.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! More to come soon.


End file.
